So, I wore this nice black lacy camisole under my shirt today, at work. I was having a girly day with the lace. While it looked nice – and yes, only I got to see it – it also had the benefit of being one of the fitted stretchy ones that also holds things in. You know – possible bulges, enticing love handles – all those loveable things the best women have. When I first put it on it felt pretty good. I had just finished my 5km run and boxing session and I felt streamlined and ready to take on the world. An hour later at work, on a tropically humid day, I walked swiftly to the ladies loos and ripped my shirt off, dragged the lacy, torturous bitch-of-a-thing off and threw it across the bathroom. It landed with a thwack and lay all pretty and lacy looking on the floor. I then stood in my bra, letting my natural curves all hang out and swore as god is my witness I will never wear that again.
There’s a lot to be said for letting it all hang out.